Pandora's Box
by pinkswallowsun
Summary: Nikki experiences something of a midlife crisis when yet another date turns sour; but will anyone be there to comfort her? Short multichap if enough interest is shown xx
1. Part 1

**This is a bit of an experiment. I'm supposed to be revising science, but the only equation I've learned so far is Flossie + revision = Harry/Nikki fanfiction, which isn't too helpful. And then my sister set me the challenge of writing a SW fic based around the first song to come up on her ipod, including Nikki drunk, and a date which ended badly, and an explanation as to the box of clutter in Nikki's fireplace as seen in the H/N scene at her house from 'A guilty mind.' The song happened to be 'Sheila' by Jamie T, which I hadn't actually heard before. So I've done my best. It's not finished yet, but hopefully you guys can give me some feedback and let me know if it's actually any good before I put the next part up?**

**The writing in italics is what's happened earlier to lead to what's happening in the present, if you understand what I mean. Hopefully it will all make sense when you start to read!**

**Hope you like, and if enough people want this to continue and review then I'll get part 2 up in the next few days. And the next chapter of LinL should be up tomorrow evening :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**

**Pandora's Box**

_**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**_

_**Gets poured all over her fella,**_

_**Because she says that he ain't no better,**_

_**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**_

_**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**_

_**Screams calling 'London',**_

_**But none of us heard her coming,**_

_**Guess the carpet weren't rolled out.**_

You're not quite sure what possessed you to do it, looking back, but it almost certainly wasn't the cold, harsh chill of November air in England, the light yet frozen drizzle of the rain and the damp, muddy bank of the river. It wasn't the darkness of the night, the sounds of cars speeding over the motorway bridge and vulnerability that comes from being out alone at this time of night in London, sitting in the middle of nowhere in the blackness. It must have been the alcohol, you decide, that and a fierce desire to prove something to yourself, to prove that you have someone who cares about you. Except that one backfired, you sigh to yourself miserably. Because it hasn't worked, and he's not coming. Nobody cares after all.

So how did it come to this? It depresses you sometimes, and in your drunken state the pain is only intensified. How have you managed to get through 34 years of life, lived across 2 countries, 2 continents, 2 hemispheres, and have nothing to show for any of it, unless you count a large cardboard box of photos stashed away in the hole in your wall at home where the fireplace should be? That makes you laugh, because the alcohol has messed with your sense of humour, big time, and at the moment the thought of what the original Georgian owner of your apartment would say if he could see what the place looks like now is hilarious. You doubt he'd appreciate the box in the fireplace, the beaded curtain hanging from the ceiling in your bedroom, or the collection of African wood sculptures which you had to smuggle in through UK customs in a suitcase full of medical equipment, on the basis that no one was going to look in there. He'd be appalled, that's what he'd be, and he wouldn't understand the strange and complicated world in which you live. You're laughing for a good 5 minutes before you realize it's not funny. And by that point, you can't even remember what the Georgians have to do with your distinct lack of friends and family. Nothing, probably. You can't think straight when you're drunk, however hard you try.

It's cold out here. There's a small, timid voice at the back of your mind, the voice of logic and common sense, and it's telling you to give it up. 'Nobody's coming', it's telling you. 'Nobody cares, everyone's got their own family and friends to be with; they haven't got time to be bothering with you. And that's not going to change just because you decide to freeze yourself to death. It's not worth it, go home.'

But you're intoxicated, and when you're intoxicated you avoid that quiet little voice of common sense as if it were the plague, though for the life of you, you can't explain why. Because you're tired, so tired, emotionally drained too, almost to the point that you can't find the strength to move. You want someone to come and rescue you, to turn up worried and frantic, to pick you up and hold you tight and take you home. That's cruel, you tell yourself, wanting to cause people anxiety like that, and the more you think about it, the more you realize that's what this whole thing is about: wanting to make people worry about you. Attention seeking, that's what it is. Maybe that's why you've found yourself alone, because you're such a horrible, selfish, attention-seeking person that no one wants anything to do with you. You don't blame them. When you're this drunk, sometimes you hate yourself, too.

"_So which unsuitable man are you off to see tonight?" Harry remarked as he entered the changing area, gaining a feigned look of shock from Nikki, who was sat on the bench at the centre of the room, applying her make up. She didn't usually wear much in the way of make up to work, so perhaps it was the presence of the blusher and eye shadow on the bench beside her that gave the game away. Or perhaps, she mused, it was the good mood she had been in over the past couple of weeks, perhaps Harry had picked up on that. He was surprisingly perceptive when he wanted to be, for a man. But she would never tell him that, of course. She loved to tease him too much. _

"_What makes you think," Nikki began, not failing to notice the look of amusement on Harry's face, "that just because I happen to be dressing up, I'm going out to meet a man? I could be going out with friends for all you know. Ok, ok, his name's Andrew," she sighed dramatically, knowing she wasn't going to be able to keep her new boyfriend a secret from him for too much longer, anyway. "We've been dating for a couple of weeks, and he's taking me out for dinner tonight, not that it's any of your business. Happy now?"_

"_No, I don't think I am."_

_She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to continue._

_He looked right at her now, perfectly serious. "You haven't submitted him for the Harry test."_

_She laughed. "And what exactly is the Harry test?"_

"_It's a way of me ensuring that your boyfriends are appropriate" Harry explained. "I don't want you settling down with anyone unsuitable."_

"_What, like your adoring 25 year olds?" she joked. "I'll have you know that Andrew is actually my age!"_

"_Oh, he is, is he? Just because he's your age, it doesn't mean he's suitable! Just look at what happened with Ryan the paramedic!"_

"_That wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know he was a racist pig?" Nikki protested, before glancing at her watch. "I'd better go; I said I'd meet Andrew at 7.30."_

"_OK, I'll see you tomorrow. And tell him to book in for a Harry test before your one month anniversary, or else I'll have to ban him from seeing you until he's at least 80!"_

"_He'll be old and wrinkly by then!"_

"_That's the point!"_

It's getting colder now, slowly but surely. The rain has gotten heavier and it's beginning to soak through your clothes, but you don't care, not at first. You're still drunk out of your mind, lost in a fantasy world where nothing matters, where you are numbed of all feeling and emotions. But the drizzle turns to downpour and the shock of the cold water hitting you begins to sober you up, and suddenly the cold edge of the water isn't quite so appealing. Now you just feel uncomfortable as the water seeps through your cardigan, and you are bitterly regretting your decision to not bother with a coat. What on earth made you think that was a good idea in mid-November? But then again, you weren't exactly planning all this, were you? It just sort of escalated. Escalated way out of control.

You didn't know you were afraid of the dark. You decide that you're not, that it's just the alcohol in your system, stopping you from holding yourself together after the hellhole of an evening out you've just had. There's no way you're afraid of the dark; absolutely not. After everything you've done in your life, everything you've seen, everything you've dealt with and come out the other side, there's no way you're going to be defeated by something as trivial as the dark. You won't let it happen; you're too strong for that.

And yet the voice in the back of your mind- the voice of common sense, the one you ignored earlier- is telling you that perhaps there's a good reason to be afraid. You're in the middle of nowhere on a cold, dark night in London, Saturday night and close to the clubs, all alone and with no one knowing where you are. When you put it like that, it doesn't exactly sound safe. You know you'd be the perfect target for someone up to no good, that right now you're in grave danger of ending up like some of the bodies in the mortuary fridge, but still, you don't care. Nobody else cares, after all. Nobody's coming.

Holding back a sob, a dry, hopeless drunken sob that you could really be doing without right now, you reach into your handbag and pull out your mobile, just to be sure you haven't missed his call. But nothing. You know he's out with his mother tonight, with his family, and he hasn't got time for you. Nobody has. Andrew only wanted you for sex, you know that much now, he was never any better than the rest of the long string of men who've come and gone throughout your life, a string which seems to wrapping itself tightly around your neck like a cobra the older you become, taunting you with their lack of love and commitment. Even your own father's a waste of space; only gets in contact with you when he's after your money and dumps you back on the garbage heap when you refuse. And your mother is long gone, fading in your mind's eye with each passing day, though you won't admit it, not even to yourself. You can't allow her to disappear completely; you can't be left alone in a world where no one cares. You just can't. And you haven't even gotten going on the friends yet: friends who promised to write and keep in touch when you left for England, only to ignore your letters, avoid your phone calls, university friends who've settled down with husbands and children and don't have the time for you anymore. You've got Harry and Leo to an extent, but only because you imposed yourself on them, because you didn't give them a choice. You gate-crashed their lab for goodness sake! You tied them down with a pile of Iron Age bones and invaded their space, and at a time when they were looking for a new pathologist, as it happened. It was a convenience hiring, that's what it was. They didn't really want you, but they just didn't have anyone else.

'Nikki, stop it!' you tell yourself. 'You're talking a load of crap, and you know it!' But you're reaching the depressed stage of your intoxication and you can't think straight, and before you know it the bad thoughts have overwhelmed you. You just can't seem to shake free of them, no matter how hard you try. God, you hate being this drunk.


	2. Part 2

**Thank you everyone for your lovely reviews! Heleni0, Starr123, gemS, Thyqua, Amy, Lauren, Vixi89, dinabar, Em and Lizzi, glad you all liked the first part, hopefully this one will be of the same standard! I'm not sure quite how much longer this is going to be, but there'll probably be between another 1-3 parts, we'll see :) **

**One last thing: in between revision sessions today I've been writing a series of short oneshots under the title of 'School Reports'. I don't know if anyone has done anything like this before, but basically it's a series of school reports of Harry and Nikki's, from various different times in their school careers, and based on what I think they would have been like at school- lighthearted revision relief, really :) It's a bit different so I don't want to put it up unless someone's going to read it, so please let me know if you're interested :) and let me know what you think of this, too!**

**Love Flossie xxx**

**PS- Thyqua, no, not based on my own drunken experiences, don't worry! All entirely fictional :)**

_**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**_

_**Gets poured all over her fella,**_

_**Because she says that he ain't no better,**_

_**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**_

_**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**_

_**Screams calling 'London',**_

_**But none of us heard her coming,**_

_**Guess the carpet weren't rolled out.**_

"_Nikki!" Andrew greeted her as she walked through the doors of the restaurant at 7.42; a new personal record in terms of arriving at places on time, even if she was over 10 minutes late. "Good day?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek._

_Nikki shrugged. "OK, I suppose." She never spoke about work with her boyfriends, which was one of her rules about dating she refused to break, no matter what the circumstances. She'd learned over the years that should she start talking about vertical incisions and liver dissections over dinner, they rarely came back for another date. "How was yours?"_

"_Good," he told her, before taking her hand and guiding her towards the waitress at the front desk. "We've got a reservation for 7.30, under the name Davis?"_

_She had thought it had gone well at the time, the date. She'd laughed at his jokes, listened to his stories about work, answered his questions about hers… what more could she have done? OK, so she had hastily moved on when Andrew had asked about her family, telling him her mother had died when she was a teenager and left it at that, but that wasn't enough to put someone off her for good, was it? It couldn't be. _

Maybe you're just unlovable, you muse to yourself as the rain continues to pour. Maybe that's why you've found yourself so alone, because something about you drives people away, stops them wanting to have anything to do with you. Except… but no, he still hasn't phoned you back. Maybe he's been trying to get rid of you for years, but he just hasn't known how to do it without making things awkward at work. You don't want to believe it, you really don't, but you're still intoxicated, and rational thought is next to impossible. In fact, the only things you seem to be able to think about in your current state are how depressed you feel and how badly you want to be tucked up in bed, warm and dry. Except you don't think there's much chance of that happening any time soon, because now you think about it, you're not entirely sure where you are.

The realisation that you're lost by a swamp of a river in the middle of nowhere in London at… 2.47 in the morning is starting to hit home, and suddenly you're scared. Why did you think this was a good idea? It's quite possibly the stupidest thing you've ever done. You're a pathologist for god's sake, how many times have you been called out to this sort of place before, as a crime scene? You should know better than this, you should have just gone home after your date with Andrew fell to pieces and drowned your sorrows there over a bottle of red, like you usually do? Safer, warmer, drier, and nicer wine; why didn't you just do that? Why did you let everything get so horribly out of control?

"_So, back to your place?" Andrew asked Nikki a few hours later. They had finished their meal and were just waiting for the bill, the evening having gone rather successfully, or so Nikki had thought. _

_Nikki paused. The two of them hadn't actually visited each other's houses yet; their dates had been limited to nights out at restaurants or bars. But what could be the harm? She was serious about Andrew… wasn't she? It was only week 2, but she wouldn't be wasting her time on him if she couldn't see herself maybe having a future with him… would she? No, she decided, she wouldn't. _

"_OK, sure," she smiled. "But just for coffee, yeah?"_

_Andrew just sighed. "Just for coffee? How long are you going to put me off, Nikki?" he asked, a hint of anger beginning to emerge in his voice. "How long are you going to make me wait?"_

"_Wh-what?" Nikki was almost too shocked to reply. Was this all the last 2 weeks had been about for him, getting her in bed?_

"_Andrew, relationships aren't all about sex you know, there's so much more to it than that…" she began, but he cut her off. _

"_Oh, so you don't want to? Well, why are we wasting our time then?" he asked, his voice rising slightly in volume. _

"_No, I didn't mean it like that-" Nikki tried to tell him, but Andrew didn't seem to want to listen._

"_You mean I've spent 2 weeks wasting my time on dates, and I'm not even going to get a reward at the end of it?"_

"_You think of sex as a reward?" Nikki was fuming now. "You think of sex as a reward for going on dates with me? This isn't about me at all, is it? You just want sex, no strings attached!"_

"_Oh Nikki come on, you don't really think we're going to work out, do you?" Andrew laughed. "We're completely different people- we get on- but that's it, and anyway, I'm not ready for commitment. So let's just have a good time tonight and leave it at that, yeah?"_

Looking back at it now, you don't know how you managed to find the strength to walk out of there with your head held high, keeping the tears at bay and preserving your dignity, but somehow you did. But then again, practise does make perfect, and practise at this kind of thing is something you've had plenty of over the years. You've had plenty of practice at storming out of public places after bad break-ups in your lifetime, but never before have you had somebody tell you so openly that they were only with you in the first place because they wanted unconditional sex, no strings attached and no commitment necessary. The cheek of it… you want to be angry, but you can't; you're too busy feeling deceived and stupid and blind and used… the list just seems to go on. Why didn't you see that he was only seeing you because he wanted sex? Why did you have to be so blind? But you know why; because you wanted to believe that somebody loved you, because you wanted to feel emotionally secure, just this once. You wanted to believe that you might finally have a chance of a happy and stable future, of settling down with someone, but once again you were wrong. You're always wrong, when it comes to your relationships. Maybe that's why you and Harry get on so well, because the same could be said about him. Because you each know that the other will understand, that they'll be there when this kind of thing happens, that your relationship can be a constant, running alongside the strings of inappropriate partners and failed relationships, always there to rely on. Or not, as the case may be.

You try not to think about why he still hasn't turned up, hasn't even called. You tell yourself it's because it's the middle of the night and he's fast asleep, oblivious, but it doesn't make sense. You've tried both the house phone and his mobile- even called the lab a few times, just to be sure- but he's not picking up. He's always been good in an emergency before, always been there to comfort you whatever the hour, so why isn't he coming now? Maybe he's finally got sick of you, seen you for the clingy, emotionally unstable, sorry excuse for a best friend you really are, can't be bothered to waste anymore of his time. Maybe you should call someone else, get them to rescue you instead. Yes, that will be best, you tell yourself. You'll call someone else; you don't need Harry, not if he doesn't want you. You've got other friends, you'll show him. You'll show him.

Except you haven't, you realise, as you scroll through the names in your phonebook. Andrew is first, so you hold down the delete key, erasing him from your life forever, before moving on. Catharine? No, you barely see her nowadays; you can't call in the middle of the night out of the blue. Diana; same story. You keep on scrolling, trying not to linger on _his _name for too long as you pass through the 'h's in into the 'j's. Janet? If you're going to call Janet, you might as well call Leo, you decide. But you know it's their night off tonight; the only night of the week on which neither of them are on call, and you don't want to disturb them, not now you've convinced yourself that Leo only hired you out of convenience and hasn't been able to shake you out of his life since. Maybe Janet's only being nice to you for his sake, not wanting to make things difficult for him at work. The alcohol won't let you think any different, won't let you see sense. It's a vicious circle, one which you know you won't be able to escape from until you sober up. And somehow, you can't see that happening any time soon.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3. This is going to get happier very soon, I promise! Huge thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far: Thyqua, gemS, heleni0, Amy, Starr123, Em, Lizzi, Lauren, Vixi89 & dinabar, please keep them coming, and now is the time to review if you haven't done so yet :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**

_**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**_

_**Gets poured all over her fella,**_

_**Because she says that he ain't no better,**_

_**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**_

_**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**_

_**Screams calling 'London',**_

_**But none of us heard her coming,**_

_**Guess the carpet weren't rolled out.**_

You've come to the conclusion that you're friendless, as well as without a family. You've gone through your entire phonebook three times now, and you've realized that there are 5 people you'd consider calling in a situation like this: Harry, Leo, Janet, Sara Laurence and Martha. Trouble is, you've tried Harry countless times, you've already ruled out Leo and Janet, and Sara and Martha are an 11 hour flight away; hardly practical for coming to pick you up in the early hours of the morning. So that leaves you alone, drunk out of your mind and lost, without a clue as to what to do next. You can't seem to think forward, to find a solution; all you can do is look back. Look back and regret not going home after you walked out of the restaurant, after you saw Andrew for the sex-obsessed bastard he really was and got out of there as fast as you could.

_Nikki sighed softly to herself as she perched on the edge of the bar stool, staring aimlessly into the depths of her 4__th__ glass of wine. What with that and the bottle she and Andrew had shared earlier in the evening, not to mention the worryingly brightly coloured shots she'd had at the previous bar, she was beginning to feel rather numb. But numb was good. Numb meant that she couldn't feel betrayed, couldn't feel used, and couldn't feel hopeless. Even if she knew perfectly well that being out alone, late at night, this drunk, was most definitely not a good idea. _

"_Nikki?"_

_She whipped down at the sound of her name, only to find Andrew standing behind her, a half-apologetic, half-smug and hungry look on his face. God, she hated him, Nikki thought in her drunken state. He'd followed her. She'd stormed out of the restaurant, made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him, and he'd bloody gone and followed her. Who the hell did he think he was?_

"_Andrew!" she slurred angrily, sliding off the bar stool and turning to face him. "Andrew, what the hell are you doing here?"_

"_Nikki, listen," her once-boyfriend protested. "Nikki, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Listen, why don't you come back to my place tonight, we can-"_

"_We can what?" Nikki said spitefully. "I know what you want, Andrew. And the answer's still no, just as it was earlier! No, I mean it! No!"_

"_Nikki, don't be like this!" Andrew shouted, clearly oblivious to the fact that several people were now turning to look at them. "Just come back with me tonight, please! That's all I'm asking!"_

"_No, I don't think it is! Listen Andrew, I don't want to see you again, OK? It's over! It's over, now leave me alone!"_

_Angrily, Nikki threw some money down onto the counter to cover the drinks and made to leave, storming out of the bar and slamming the door behind her. But when she turned to look over her shoulder as she crossed the road, heading towards the taxi pick-up point (knowing full well that she was far too drunk to drive) she saw Andrew following her, about to cross the road at the same point. 'He's just heading home, too,' she told herself. 'Maybe he needs to get a taxi too, it's fine.' _

_Yet something about it unnerved her; him following her like that. Intentionally or unintentionally, he was scaring her. And she wanted it to stop._

You've never experienced that panic on a date before, and rarely outside of that scenario, and it scared you. You've been followed a couple of times at work, but 'work' means that the police- and Harry, now you think about it- are never far away, and even though you're always nervous, you know at the same time that help will be coming as events unfold, even if it's only a tiny voice at the back of your mind. Maybe that was what spooked you earlier, because you knew then that the situation was very different. No one knew where you were, and still no one knows now. If you get yourself into any kind of trouble, they'll be no one around to save you. You'll have to deal with it alone. And that scared you, big time. It still scares you now.

_Something within Nikki told her that it was wrong, Andrew following her like that. It made her feel scared, uncomfortable, like she was letting him win. She wasn't prepared to do that, and she certainly wasn't prepared to stand next to him in a taxi queue, trying to make polite conversation. No, she decided, she would walk through town a little, pick up a taxi on the way. It would be fine. Yes, it would all be fine._

_Nikki made one last paranoid check over her shoulder as she made her way through another street, in the opposite direction of the taxi point. She had been walking for a good 5 minutes now; Andrew would have broken off in a different direction. But as she stole a glance over her shoulder, Nikki saw him there, walking perhaps 10 metres behind her, but it was definitely him. He was following her. _

_Hastily she broke into a run, as fast as was possible in her heels and considering the large amount of alcohol she had consumed in the last couple of hours. There was no way Andrew should still be behind her, not unless he was following her. But he was just trying to freak her out, get her back for breaking up with him; it wasn't anything more sinister. It couldn't be._

_Nikki glanced over her shoulder again, half-terrified, to see Andrew still following her, having now started to jog. Still there, still a comfortable distance away from her, yet clearly following her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?_

_There was nothing for it. Nikki stopped briefly to kick off her shoes, before grabbing them quickly in one hand and beginning to run. She could still sense him behind her; hear his footsteps pounding on the pavement, taunting her. _

_She was running blind now, not really caring where she was headed, just as long as it was away from Andrew. Helplessly, Nikki turned a corner before diving into a small gap between 2 buildings, hiding behind a skip before crouching down, shaking as the footsteps got closer and closer. She couldn't quite believe she'd had to resort to this: cowering behind somebody's rubbish in a dark alleyway, out of fear of what would happen if her latest ex-boyfriend found her. How the hell had this happened? How had she been so horribly wrong about Andrew, judged his character so badly that she had failed to see all this coming? How had she managed to get herself into this situation, a situation which seemed so bizarre that no one could possibly make it up. Had anyone else told her about something like this, she would have laughed. Except that it wasn't particularly funny when it was you who was being followed._

_Nikki waited until the footsteps had passed before making her move; jumping to her feet and dashing down the alleyway, reaching the end before turning left on a whim, slowing to a walk and wandering along the pathway, paying next to no attention to where she was going. She was almost certain that she had shaken Andrew off, so there was no further need to run barefoot. It was dark too, almost pitch black, but she didn't care, not in the slightest. She didn't care what happened now; nothing could be as horrible as being stalked, as feeling exposed and vulnerable. Nothing, not even being lost alone in the middle of the night. Or at least, that was what Nikki told herself. _

You don't know what to do anymore. You don't know what to do. You're completely and utterly lost, and still he hasn't called. Now you're starting to despair; wondering what will happen if nobody comes to your rescue. Maybe you'll be out here all night, half-frozen to death by the time the morning comes, thoroughly drowned in your sorrows and depressed to the core. Maybe no one will even notice you're gone, but that's OK. You don't care anymore. You really don't.


	4. Part 4

**Sorry this has taken so long. I've had a pretty horrible week and I've not had much time to write, so this chapter's very short, but I wanted to get something up for you. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, please keep reading and reviewing, and I promise to get more written when I can. Sorry again, blame exams, dance competitions, younger sisters and family issues! **

**Love Flossie xxx**

_**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**_

_**Gets poured all over her fella,**_

_**Because she says that he ain't no better,**_

_**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**_

_**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**_

_**Screams calling 'London',**_

_**But none of us heard her coming,**_

_**Guess the Carpet weren't rolled out.**_

The rain is starting to drive you crazy; the way it's pounding on your back, turning your once carefully straightened hair to a mess of frizz and running in cold streams down your cheeks, mixing with your tears. You're tired of this now, tired of staying out in the cold, waiting to prove something to yourself. 'It's not going to happen, Nikki,' a small, shaky voice in the back of your mind is trying to tell you. 'Nobody's coming. So come on, get up and go home. There's no point waiting out here for someone who's not going to come.'

Sighing, you climb to your feet, wobbling slightly as you try to balance, realising the alcohol is still very much in your system. Do taxis run at this time of the morning? You're not sure. But you know you can't stay here, not when you've got work tomorrow. Oh god, work tomorrow… you're going to be shattered. You're going to be practically falling asleep over the PMs tomorrow, not to mention the hangover you'll be suffering from, but there's nothing you can do about it now. The only think you can go is head home, try and get some sleep and pull yourself together before work tomorrow. Although how you're going to manage that when you feel so alone and abandoned is anyone's guess. Still, you'll get through it, you tell yourself. You've got through all the other hardships you've faced in your life; why should this one be any different? Except… you've never actually felt this alone before; there's always been someone there to keep you company. This time though, the whole problem is that there isn't anyone. You're all alone in the world, and there's nothing you can do about it.

You've only taken a few shaky steps before you realize that you don't know where you are. It wasn't quite this dark when you first came down here, and you were so panicked and concentrated on getting as far away from Andrew as possible that you didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to where you were going. Needless to say, you're starting to regret that decision now. You're starting to regret it hugely.

You stop and look around slowly, trying to adjust your eyes to the light, or lack of. You know you're by a river, presumably the Thames, because you can see the moonlight reflected in the water, the soft white light strangely calming for a moment, until it sinks in just how lost you are. Squinting, you can just about make out the towpath ahead of you, but as you turn around to face the other way, you realize it goes both ways. Which direction did you come from? Panic sets in as you try in vain to think, but you can't remember. All you know is that you collapsed down onto the grass at the side of the river the minute you were sure Andrew had lost your trail, sobbing violently as the emotion of events overwhelmed you. You don't know how long you sat there like that, but you do know that you didn't move an inch until the tears dried up, that and the excessive amount of alcohol you've drunk tonight leaving you feeling exhausted and dehydrated. You just want to sleep, that's all you want. You just want to find your way home, to dry off and curl up in bed, that's all you want. But you can't go home. You don't know how to find your way there.

You want to cry again, to let all the emotion out, but you find that you can't. The tears have long since dried up, and there's no outlet for it all anymore. So now you find thoughts from earlier drifting back into your mind, refusing to leave you, no matter how hard you try to push them away. You want Harry, your brain is telling you. You want Harry to come and rescue you.

But he's not coming. Your phone confirms that you've called him 24 times and left almost as many voicemail messages, but still no answer. You've just got to accept it now; you're going to have to survive without him. He can't always be your knight in shining armour; sooner or later he's going to get tired of coming to save you. Maybe he already has.

Frantically you start to think, trying to come up with a plan B, a plan which doesn't involve Harry. Maybe it's best to stay where you are, you decide. Normally you wouldn't think it advisable to stay in such an isolated part of London in the middle of the night, but it beats the alternative, which is to wander on through the night, with no idea where you're going and not even able to see the path in front of you. You'd rather stay here, you decide, you'd rather take your chances down here. When morning comes you'll walk back down the river, find where you came from and get back home. You'll probably be late for work because you're going to have to go home and change, but you know that Leo won't ask too many questions.

Thinking about work, about Leo and Harry, causes all the bad thoughts to come flooding back once more. Because in your current state, convinced that neither of them care in the slightest, that nobody really does, the thought of going into work just makes you feel more alone than ever. It's like Pandora's box, you muse; it's like someone has opened up your own personal Pandora's box and released an army of bad, soul-destroying, unpleasant thoughts into your head, tormenting you, refusing to let you believe any different. Desperate to stop feeling so alone and afraid, you curl up into a ball at the side of the river, burying your head in your knees as your whole body shakes with tears. And then it comes; a tiny ray of hope in with the misery and self-hatred, a reassurance that maybe someone does care after all. Because your mobile screen is glowing brightly in the darkness, two words displayed across the screen which fill you with hope like no other words ever could. 'Harry calling.'


	5. Part 5

**Part 5:) I didn't mean for this to turn out quite this long, I hope you're not all getting bored! Let me know what you think, and I'll update as soon as I can :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**

**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**

**Gets poured all over her fella,**

**Because she says that he ain't no better,**

**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**

**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**

**Screams calling 'London',**

**But none of us heard her coming,**

**Guess the carpet weren't rolled out.**

"Harry?" you whisper into the phone. Your voice is hoarse from all the sobbing, yet somehow full of anticipation; anticipation that's been building up all night as you've waited for this call. You thought he didn't care, you thought he was going to leave you abandoned out here all night. But he still might do that, you tell yourself. He might be calling to tell you to back off, to stop pestering him and leave him alone. You wouldn't blame him if he was.

"Nikki?" His voice sounds tired, confused. "Nikki, are you OK? I'm so sorry, I stayed over at my mum's, left my phone on the kitchen table, just came down for some water and found you've been trying to call me all night. I'm sorry. What is it, a new case? Do you need me to come and meet you?"

There's something about his oblivious that comforts you, makes you forget all the bad things and the impossible situation you've found yourself in, just for a moment. You almost don't want to reply, don't want to break the bubble you're existing in at present.

"Harry, I…" you try to explain, but you can't control yourself, and before you know it you're sobbing hysterically once again, trying desperately to calm yourself down, but you can't. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the shock of everything that's happened this evening, or maybe it's the relief of finally being able to hear the sound of Harry's voice, the emotion of it all. You don't know. All you know is that you can't seem to stop.

"Nikki? Nikki, it's OK, it's all going to be OK," he tries to sooth you. "This isn't about work, is it? I'm so sorry, I should have kept my bloody phone on me, I should have spoken to you hours ago. What's wrong? Nikki, tell me what's wrong."

"I… I d-don't know w-w-where I am!" you stutter, unable to hold it all in any longer. "I'm l-l-lost in the mid-le of b-bloody nowhere and I d-don't know w-where I am!"

"Aren't you at Andrew's?"

The mere mention of his name sets you off again into full on hysterics, refusing to calm any time soon. You don't want to think about him- he's a bastard. He's a bastard and you hope you never see him again, as long as you live.

"Oh Nikki, I'm sorry," Harry sighs; he's clearly read your mind on that one and realized that Andrew's out of the picture. "What happened? Start from the beginning, tell me what happened."

"Harry, it's a long story…" you begin tiredly, shivering as the rain starts to pelt down even harder, but he cuts you off.

"Nikki, where are you?"

"Harry, I t-t-told you, I d-don't know!"

"I know that Nikki, I know, but where roughly? Please god, don't tell me you're outside."

Damn, he's seen through you. You know he's going to flip when he realizes where you are, but you don't have the strength to try and hide it. "Harry, I…"

"Nikki, it's chucking it down with rain out there, it's the middle of November for god's sake!" You can hear the concern in his voice now, and guilt is beginning to set in. How could you have thought he didn't care? How could you have doubted him, hearing the soft concern in his voice now? God, you're lucky to have him, you know that much.

"Right, I'm coming to get you," he decides. "I'm going to come and get you, you can't stay out there in the cold, you'll get ill. Do you have a rough idea where you are?"

"I don't know, I was by the taxi point near the bars in town, where we normally go, but now I'm by a river somewhere in the middle of nowhere…" You're starting to panic now; hearing the concern in Harry's voice has pulled you out of your depressive, self-destructive mood, and suddenly it hits you just how cold you really are. Not that you didn't feel the cold before- you did- but now you feel frozen.

"Harry, you're not going to be able to find me," you sigh hopelessly, pulling your knees up to your chest as you shiver. "I don't even know where I am, how are you supposed to find me?"

"I will, of course I will," he's reassuring you now, and you can hear background noise at the other end of the phone. "I'm going to head into town, it's going to be a bit longer since I'm at Mum's, but I'll be there as soon as I can, OK? Why don't you have a wander around, try and find your way back to the taxi point? That'll warm you up a bit as well."

"OK," you manage, holding back the tears, determined to regain some of your dignity. "OK."

"Just hang on for a bit longer, I'll be there as soon as I can," he promises again. "It's all going to be OK."

You want to believe him, you really do. But right from the moment the line goes dead, the moment you're left by yourself once more, fear begins to set in again. Harry's mother lives ages away from London, who knows how long it's going to take him to get here? And now you've come to your senses a little, your current location seems a thousand times more terrifying. There are no street lights down here, no houses, no buildings, no one to turn to for help. It scares you, the mere thought of trying to retrace your steps, purely and simply because of the number of places like this you've been called out to by daylight at work, to examine the body of some poor soul who met a tragic end at the hands of a drug-addled psychopath. What if that's you tonight? What if by the time Harry gets here, it's too late?

You're not sure quite what's gotten into you; you're not usually this jumpy, far from it, in fact. You blame the alcohol; it's left your brain addled and your senses in a tangle. Nothing bad is going to happen, you tell yourself. You're in the middle of bloody nowhere; there's no one around to pose any threat. Harry's right, you realize, as another wave of shivers hits you. You need to get moving, get your circulation going again, try and find your way back to the city centre. It's going to be a while before Harry gets here, and you know you can't keep relying on him to be your knight in shining armour. You're going to have to look after yourself for a while, until he gets here, and then hope and pray he keeps the drowned rat jokes to a minimum. The more you begin to sober up, the more you realize that you're never truly going to live this one down.

**I have one more chapter planned after this, in which Harry arrives, but if you would like a Harry taking Nikki home and looking after her etc chapter, then I would be more than happy to write that too :) Let me know via a review/PM if you want more, I always love to hear your feedback! xx**


	6. Part 6

**Penultimate chapter :) And I am SO SORRY for not updating sooner, I'm hoping now the holidays have started properly I'll have more time to write. I'm going to write another chapter as requested, and I will include your request in it, AutumnRoseSummerLily :)**

**Hope you like this one, I promise to update quicker next time, but it will be extra quick if you all review :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**

**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**

**Gets poured all over her fella,**

**Because she says that he ain't no better,**

**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**

**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**

**Screams calling 'London',**

**But none of us heard her coming,**

**Guess the carpet weren't rolled out.**

Harry was wrong, you decide a while later, shivering as you walk slowly through the darkness. He'd told you on the phone to walk around, to try and find your way back to the town centre, that the movement would warm you up a little. Except it isn't working, not the slightest bit. It's mostly due to the rain beginning to pour even harder, hail stones hitting you from all directions. God, Harry had better hurry up, or you'll have frozen to death by the time he gets here.

Sighing to yourself, you try to rub some heat back into your arms as you continue down the path, doing your best to block out the discomfort. You can see lights ahead of you now, a glimmer of hope at the end of a long, dark tunnel, and your heart floods with relief. You could be mistaken, but you think you can see the city lights now, you think you're almost back to the town centre. That's good, you tell yourself, because that means it'll be much, much easier for Harry to find you, when at last he gets here. He shouldn't be long now; it's been almost an hour since your phone call, after all. Harry's mother lives in Hampshire, not exactly the closest place to Central London by day, but surely the roads will be clearer at this time of night? You hope so. You hate feeling so dependent on someone else, so clingy, so helpless, but the embarrassment of needing Harry's help has paled in comparison to your need to warm up, to get home and sleep and forget the events of tonight. You don't care how much Harry teases you, either about the date with Andrew going so badly wrong or about him having to come to your rescue in the early hours of the morning. You just want to go home.

In the darkness, you can now just about make out the alleyway leading back towards the bright lights of the city centre, and you let out a soft sigh of relief, finally able to relax. You're nearly safe. Just a little bit further, and you'll be back on the map, out of danger. Just a bit further.

You can't quite see where you're putting your feet anymore, but that's OK; you know there's not far to go before they'll be street lights everywhere, and you'll know exactly where you are. Then Harry will arrive, take you home, and you've just got to struggle through tomorrow at work and then it's the weekend; you can sleep in, recover, forget. Everything's going to be fine, you tell yourself.

You're only a few metres away from the alleyway when it happens. Your feet are beginning to ache, and you twist your left ankle slightly to the side as your foot protests against being forced to walk in muddy high heels, stumbling sideways. Cursing, you fight to regain your balance, holding out your arms like a gymnast on a balance beam, but it's no good. In that split second before you fall, you realize that knowing your luck, you're going to end up face down in the mud, and be the subject of Harry's jokes for the next month.

But you don't fall into the mud. Instead of hitting something soft almost immediately, you keep falling for a little longer, before hearing a loud splash. And suddenly you're soaking wet, even more so than you were before, and growing colder by the second. Now that really is just your luck: you've fallen in. You've gone and fallen in the bloody river.

You're pulled under the water unexpectedly, your lungs beginning to fill with icy cold water as you splutter for breath instinctively, forgetting in your panic that there's no chance in hell of catching your breath below the surface of the water. After a few moments you manage to force your way up to the surface, gulping down air in between coughing up the river water, while trying to keep yourself from slipping back down below. But you're cold, so cold, and all your energy has been drained from you. You're fighting to keep your head above the water now, scanning your surroundings frantically in the dark, trying to work out where the bank of the river is. You can't really tell, but you can vaguely make out a dark shape in front of you, one which you're assuming is the muddy turf at the edge. Shaking from the cold, you begin to swim towards it, desperate. You've never been much of a swimmer anyway, and now your limbs are becoming heavy, threatening to pull you under the water once more. But you can't stop; you've got to keep going, you've got to get out of the water now, before you get too cold and lose all your energy and willpower. As a pathologist, you know only too well what tends to happen to drunks who fall into rivers in the early hours of the morning on a freezing cold night.

You manage to reach the bank and throw your handbag up over the side, thankful that you at least haven't lost your house keys. Now for the task of trying to get yourself out: something which proves to be ten times harder than pulling yourself over the side of a swimming pool. Each time you think you're almost there, almost out of the cold pit of despair, you slide back down the bank and land in the river with a splash. Panicked, you let out a sharp, high pitched scream, escaping your lips before you've even registered it. You're growing more and more exhausted by the minute; you know you need to get out, now. But you can't. You can't. And so you just keep on screaming, not caring if you end up attracting the wrong sort of attention anymore. At least if someone does decide to grab you, you'll be out of the water, you'll be warm. But there's no one here, you realize with a sickening feeling. No one's coming to rescue you.

And then suddenly you feel someone grasp hold of your arms, squeezing your shoulders, and involuntarily you begin to scream louder, wriggling frantically, trying desperately to escape. You had been telling yourself just moments before that you didn't care if someone tried to grab you, but now it's actually happening, fear is taking over. You didn't mean it; you didn't really want this to happen. But then, you don't want to stay in the river either. You just want to go home, that's all you want. You just want to go home.

"Get away from me!" you scream, trying to fight him off while treading water at the same time, something which seems to be near impossible. "Leave me alone, please!" But the effort of trying to fight has drained you of all your energy, and now you're sinking again, losing your battle to remain above the water.

"Nikki!"

Someone is calling your name, a voice you recognise, yet in your exhausted state can't quite place. They're pulling you back above the surface, leaning over the edge of the bank to wrap their arms around your waist, sliding you out of the river and up the bank, before pulling you onto their lap and squeezing you into a tight hug, wrapping something thick and warm around your shoulders. You turn your head to face them, your brain finally kicking in as he begins to rub some heat back into your arms. Harry. It's Harry. He's come to your rescue, once again.


	7. Part 7

**I'm so sorry this has taken so long; I wish I had a good reason but I'm afraid I've just been pretty busy, and I stupidly started publishing this before I had enough of it written to compensate not being able to write anything new for a while. So blame me, I'm sorry. **

**This was going to be the last chapter, but it turned out REALLY long and I haven't quite finished it off, so I've split it in half because I wanted to get this to you now. And the epilogue will be up as soon as possible (and I mean that this time!) Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far, thank you for being so patient, and your feedback for this chapter would be amazing :) And Dinabar, the last paragraph's for you- I reread your review as I was writing this and just couldn't resist :) **

**Promise to update soon (if you all review :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**

_**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**_

_**Gets poured all over her fella,**_

_**Because she says that he ain't no better,**_

_**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**_

_**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**_

_**Screams calling 'London',**_

_**But none of us heard her coming,**_

_**Guess the carpet weren't rolled out.**_

Under normal circumstances, you don't let anyone look after you like Harry's doing now. You don't allow people to see a weaker, more vulnerable side of you; you stay strong and composed, no matter how bad you're feeling inside. But it's the early hours of the morning now, you're cold, colder than you can ever remember being before in your life, you're tired, you're emotionally drained, and truth be told, you can't be bothered with it all. And so, just this once, you let Harry wrap you tightly in a blanket, let him squeeze the water out of your hair and pull you back against his chest, as if trying to transfer some of his body heat onto you. You ignore the strange butterfly feeling in your stomach as his hands brush over your hips, telling yourself that he's looking after you because he's your best friend and he's concerned about you, nothing more. Even though sometimes, just sometimes, you wish he thinks of you as more than a friend. But only sometimes.

"Nikki, you're frozen," Harry is sighing now, running his fingers through your hair. For a moment you wonder if he does feel something else for you after all, but then he begins to speak again.

"And why is your hair full of… metal stuff?" He's not showing affection, he's trying to pull your hairpins out, without even knowing what they are. You're no expert, but you're pretty sure most men wouldn't do that for their best friend. God, you're lucky to have him.

"They're just hairpins, Harry," you tell him, trying to stop your teeth from chattering in between the words. "Leave them; I'll sort them out later." You start to wriggle off his lap, preparing to stand. "Thank you for… for coming. I'm sorry, we should probably get going, I don't want to keep you out here any longer than…"

But before you can finish, Harry is pulling you back down onto his lap firmly, one hand pressed to your forehead. "You're not going anywhere," he murmurs, reaching over to your left and picking up another blanket, wrapping it around you tightly on top of the first.

"Only you could fall into a river in the middle of the night on the coldest day of the year," he teases you gently, but you're not in the mood for jokes. He seems to pick up on that and goes quiet for a few moments, moving his hand away from your forehead and holding you a little tighter as a particularly violent wave of shivers passes over you.

"You're still very cold," he says worriedly, resting his chin on the crown of your head for a moment before shifting you in his arms, one arm sliding under your legs as he begins to lift you off the ground. "Come on, we need to get you warmed up."

"Harry, I'm… p-perfectly capable… of… walking…myself," you manage, your teeth chattering, but you lean into him all the same, wrapping your arms around his neck in a gesture of huge contradiction.

"I know," he replies, bending down to pick up your handbag before proceeding through the darkness; how he knows where to go is anyone's guess. "I know Nikki, but please, just this once, let me look after you. You're shivering like crazy, you've just been head-under in a filthy river in the middle of November, so please, just let me carry you the odd 200m back to the car, OK?"

You're not happy, but you don't have the energy to argue with him. And besides, although you'd never admit it, you're rather enjoying this, feeling so close to him. It makes you feel safe somehow, protected, cared for. Maybe you're still drunk.

Your eyes are beginning to close as he opens the passenger door and sits you down inside, fastening your seatbelt before walking round to the other side of the car. You want to curl up on the seat and sleep until he pulls up outside your apartment block, but your face twists into a frown as you realize there's something you can't quite make sense of.

"You haven't asked me what happened," you tell him, not quite sure if you're accusing him or asking him why.

"No," Harry agrees, turning to glance at you as he pulls out onto the road. "I was a bit preoccupied before with pulling you out of the Thames." He turns to look at you again now, a look of questioning and sympathy in his eyes. "Besides, it's not every day you phone me in a panic like that in the middle of the night, especially on a night which I happen to know you've been out on a date. So I figured I'd let you tell me what happened in my own time."

How did you get so lucky as to have such a kind, understanding, deeply caring person as your best friend? You don't know. But you don't deserve him, you know that much. You can't think what you've done in your life to earn someone as special as Harry as a best friend, but in times like these you're eternally grateful that you found each other, that you gate-crashed the Lyell Centre and became a part of his life. Whether you mean the same to him as he does to you, you don't know, but somehow that isn't important. All that matters is now is that he's come to your rescue, that you're not alone and vulnerable anymore. Harry has saved you, and not for the first time.

"He wasn't serious about me Harry, not really," you whisper, leaning back against the seat and squeezing your eyes shut as the brightness of the streetlights hits you harshly. "He just wanted me for sex; he as good as admitted it to my face."

"Oh Nikki," he sighs, reaching out to place his hand over your own; a simple gesture which offers you an abundance of comfort. "So you decided to wander off into London by yourself in the middle of the night, just because Andrew turned out to be another womanizer? Come on Nikki, I know you, there's more to it than that."

"I moved on to a bar a few doors down from the restaurant," you tell him numbly, realizing as you recount the incident that you're only just beginning to process what happened. But he came into the bar, asked for another chance, for me to come back with him- I knew what he wanted, I said no. So I left, but he… he followed me out," you sigh, refusing to look at Harry, refusing to see the 'I told you so' look in eyes that always appears there when yet another of your boyfriends turns out to be a hopeless case.

"At first I thought he was just getting a taxi home, like me, but then… I don't know, there was just something intimidating about the whole thing, like he was up to no good. So I carried out past the taxi point, thinking he'd stop there, that I'd feel safer if I knew he wasn't following me…"

"And he didn't stop, he carried on behind you," Harry finishes for you, sighing heavily and squeezing your hand in his own, offering you another taste of comfort. "Oh Nikki, what are we going to do with you, hey? You do pick some rotters."

He's not trying to upset you, you know that, he's just trying to joke with you, lighten the mood a little. But you're not in the mood for jokes, not after the nightmare of an evening you've had. You can feel your eyes beginning to water and wipe them frantically, cursing your emotions, your hormones; whatever's causing you to react like this to such an innocent, light-hearted comment, but Harry must have caught sight of the tear trails running down you face before you managed to wipe them away, because now his expression is softening, and even in the darkness you can see the guilt in his eyes at having upset you.

"Oh Nikki, I didn't mean it," he sighs, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "I'm sorry, you're tired and you've had the evening from hell, to say the least, the last thing you need is my stupid, thoughtless attempts at lightening the mood." He pauses for a moment, glancing across to meet your gaze for a brief moment, then reverts his eyes back to the road, his left hand still on yours.

"So what happened next?" he presses gently. "You ran, he followed, and by the time you'd managed to shake him off you'd worked yourself up into such a panic that you couldn't find your way back?"

You just nod mutely, unable to understand how he can possibly know you so well, to know not only exactly what had happened to get you into that situation, but also how your reaction had led to the ultimate outcome: to you phoning him constantly like some obsessed teenager, working yourself into a panic and stumbling into a freezing river at some godforsaken hour of the morning on a cold November day.

"I'm sorry," you say quietly, your voice a mere whisper. "I'm sorry I called you out here."

"Don't you dare apologise, Dr Alexander," Harry warns you firmly. "You've got nothing to apologise for, OK? Nothing. It's not your fault Andrew turned out to be a self-centred, sex-obsessed creep, is it?"

"But it is my fault that you've been dragged out of bed and back into London in the middle of the night to rescue your weak, feeble, hopeless best friend because she's got terrible taste in men and managed to get herself into a stupidly blind panic…"

"No Nikki, no!" Harry insists, his voice firm and leaving you no room to argue. "You're not weak Nikki, you're not feeble, you're not hopeless and you're certainly not stupid. Although I can't deny that you do have terrible taste in men," he grins, and you find yourself breaking into a smile, in spite of everything.

"You're my best friend," he tells you softly. "And I very much hope that I'm yours. And what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't come to your rescue in your hour of need, hey? I've no doubt you'd do the same for me. You _have_ done the same for me on many occasions. And I was already awake when I finally picked up your calls; it wasn't you who woke me up, Nikki. And even if it was, I'd still come and pick you up. With your track record, there's no way I'd let you stay out there by yourself for any long than I could help it."

You don't know what to say when you hear that. There's an attempt of humour at the end of his short speech, as if he's aware that this conversation is turning out to be rather deep and meaningful, and wants to lift the mood a little, to stop this becoming slightly awkward between you. And yet at the same time, even the light-hearted humour which is so distinctly Harry can't hide the caring and concern in his voice, to an extent you're pretty certain can't be found in most best friends. You've already thought that about a thousand times, you realize now; your brain's running in circles. God, you really _did_ drink too much.

"Thank you," you whisper simply, looking across to meet Harry's eyes, just to be sure he's understood the multitude of meaning behind those two simple words. Satisfied by the calm recognition you see there, you turn your gaze back out of the window, suddenly aware that whilst you've been lost in your thoughts, Harry has progressed much further along the road than you had thought; much further than your flat, much further than his own, now approaching the very outskirts of London, and suddenly you feel afraid. Why, you don't know. Despite your encounter with Andrew, you know full well that Harry isn't going to hurt you; your faith in men hasn't been damaged to that extent. Maybe it's just the alcohol still poisoning your system that's filling you with a strange sense of fear regarding the person you trust the most in the world? You don't know. But you do know that this is stupid, this blind and idiotic panicking. Why don't you just ask him for an explanation?

"Harry?" you ask quietly, shocked at the noticeable wobble in your voice as you say his name. You make a mental note to yourself to _never _ever let yourself get this drunk again as long as you live; it's certainly not worth the hassle, the heartache, the upset, the irrationality that seems to come hand in hand with this level of intoxication. And never mind that: it's not fair on Harry.

"Niks?" It might still be dark, but you can see the concern written all over his face. God, are you really that obvious? Or does he just know you inside and out, to the point where he can read your emotions in the blink of an eye?

"What's wrong?" Harry asks you worriedly. "You're not still frozen, are you?" He presses his hand to your forehead, pulling it away after a few moments and turning up the heating.

"No I'm fine," you insist, tensing your whole body in an attempt to stop yourself from shivering and betraying yourself. "Harry… you do know you've got past my apartment building, don't you?"

"Ah… about that…" he begins awkwardly, a crimson glow spreading delicately across his cheeks as he flushes, and suddenly you're not nervous anymore; it's rather endearing.

"Now Nikki, don't be mad at me, but… I sort of woke my mum up on the way out to come and pick you up, and she asked where I was going and I, um… I might have accidently promised to bring you back with me to hers rather than dropping you home," he finishes quickly, watching your face for a moment to gage your reaction.

"You what?" you exclaim, now overcome with a new sense of embarrassment and dread. "Oh Harry, you didn't! I'm soaked through, I stink of rain and dirty river water, it's the middle of the night, and you want to take me to your mothers? I can't turn up on her doorstep like this! Harry, take me home, now!" you protest, but he just shakes his head firmly. And he calls you the stubborn one.

"Nikki, it'll be fine," he promises. "I'm sorry, it's my fault, I might have been… excessively worried about you… when you phoned, and I guess Mum picked up on that. But it's going to be fine. It's not much further now, she'll be asleep when we get there, and you can go and have a hot shower, clean yourself up a bit and get warm, and Hampshire's a good hour and a half away from Central London during the day, if not more, so it gives you a hell of an excuse for not bothering with work tomorrow morning."

"Oh, you've got this all planned out, haven't you?" you respond angrily. "Harry, I simply cannot turn up to your mother's looking like this; I haven't even got a change of clothes!"

"She's not going to see you Nikki, not until the morning, anyway. And I can lend you a t shirt and some trackie bottoms, they'll swamp you, but they'll do for one night. And I've got the morning off tomorrow, you we can sleep in, and then we can stop by your place for you to get changed on the way to work. It's fine, Nikki. And Mum loves you, why else do you think she insisted I bring you back to hers? She wouldn't do that for most of my friends, I assure you. She was worried you'd go into work as usual tomorrow morning despite having gotten no sleep whatsoever if you went home; this way you've got an excuse. Come on Nikki, please. She's not that scary."

Not scary, no- you agree with him on that one. But you want Mrs Cunningham- Anne, last time you met she insisted that you call her Anne- to like you; perhaps that stems from the feelings which come to you now and again involving her son. Last time Harry took you along with him to spend time with Anne you spent longer getting yourself ready than you ever do for meeting the parents of your boyfriends, wanting the mother of the best friend you've ever had, the person you depend on in a whole variety of ways, to approve of you. And now you're going to turn up at her house tear stained, soaking wet, still slightly heartbroken and smelling distinctly of river water. It doesn't matter to you that Anne isn't going to see you; that doesn't make you feel any more comfortable with Harry's proposal.

But at the same time, you can hear the decisiveness in the tone of his voice, and something tells you that there's no room for arguments here. You scared him, you know that, more than you've ever done before. You've phoned Harry a few times late at night before in the past 6 years of your friendship, and vice versa, but you know that neither of you has ever done so quite this late at night, never sounded quite so hysterical, and certainly never managed to fall into the Thames after a nasty encounter with a controlling date. He wants to make sure you're OK, to look after you, and in a way you suppose you understand that. You know you would want to do exactly the same for him were your roles reversed- not that Harry would ever be stupid enough to get himself into the situation you were in, just a few hours ago. And so you'll go along with it, just for tonight. Though you won't admit it, the idea of having someone look after you as you know Harry's mother will is rather appealing when you're this tired, both physically and emotionally.

"You're not going to give in on this one, are you?" you sigh, almost to convince yourself that it's OK to give in and go back to his mother's with him.

"No." His reply is firm yet somehow welcoming, telling you that he wants you to come back with him, that it's about wanting your company as much as to make sure you're alright. And then another question enters your mind, and suddenly you're curious, despite feeling so tired and drained of energy.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you find me? I wasn't exactly in the most obvious place to find."

"I installed your mobile GPS tracker into my phone after you were held at gunpoint last year; I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd need to come and rescue you again. Nikki, I'm joking; I walked around for a bit looking for you, and then I heard splashing and screaming coming from the alleyway, and only you could fall into a river at this time of night. Although I am seriously considering the GPS idea though. I think it'd make both of our lives a whole lot easier, don't you?"


	8. Epilogue

**Final ever part :) Sorry it's taken so long, and thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed along the way, you really made writing this worthwhile and I'm so grateful. AutumnRoseSummerLily this chapter is for you, it's not quite the way you asked but it's what seemed to work best, so hopefully it'll live up to expectations! :) **

**So what's next? Well, I'm going to continue working on my long-term project Lifelines in London (which is starting to pick up the pace a bit now, I hope!). I'm also working on a fic request from Lizziginne on the theme of Harry and Nikki when they are retired, which I hope to get up soon, and I have a couple of oneshot ideas. But if there's anything else you guys would like me to write, just let me know by PM/review, and provided I think I can make it work then I'm more than happy to write it for you :) You'll have to give me a bit of time to think/plan/write/edit, but I will certainly do my best! **

**Let me know if you like the conclusion to this/about any future projects you want me to think about xx**

**Love Flossie xxx**

_**Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,**_

_**Gets poured all over her fella,**_

_**Because she says that he ain't no better,**_

_**Than the next man kicking up fuss,**_

_**Drunk, she stumbles down by a river,**_

_**Screams calling 'London',**_

_**But none of us heard her coming,**_

_**Guess the carpet weren't rolled out.**_

Anne Cunningham padded across the landing slowly towards her son's old bedroom, pausing to listen at the door as she reached it, which had been pulled shut, trying to detect any signs of life within. It was almost 11.30 in the morning now and although both Harry and Nikki should have been at work almost 3 hours ago, both were yet to stir, although that hadn't come as entirely unexpected to Anne, given the events of the previous night. She still didn't know exactly what had happened, only that Nikki had been in trouble and Harry had gone to pick her up, before bringing her back with him. Her son would do anything for Nikki, that much was perfectly clear. God only knew what time the pair of them had arrived back or what Harry's best friend had been through that evening, but when Anne had failed to see any sign of movement from her son's room by 7.30 she had taken the liberty to use Harry's phone to call his and Nikki's boss and explain that the pair of them wouldn't be in work until the afternoon. Leo had been surprisingly calm and understanding about it, all things considered, simply saying it was fine, to let them rest, but to make sure they had dragged themselves out of bed and into work by 2 in the afternoon or else. And so Anne had simply left Harry and Nikki to sleep undisturbed, until now. Now she should probably wake them, she decided, if they were going to stand any chance of getting to work on time.

And so she pushed the door open slowly, silently, peering into the still slightly darkened room and taking in the 2 people occupying it. It took Anne a moment to spot them, curled up across the middle of the bed and half-hidden beneath the covers. Harry was sprawled out down the centre of the bed, lying sideways with his arms out to the left, holding his best friend tightly to his chest, enveloped in a warm embrace. Nikki was faced away from him, almost completely concealed beneath the duvet save for a curtain of blonde curls spread out across the pillow and a smaller hand clutching Harry's own on top of the covers, as if assuring herself that he was still there. And the pair of them just looked so peaceful, so content with simply each other, that Anne couldn't quite bring herself to wake them. She didn't know exactly what had happened to Nikki the night before- she hadn't seen either her or Harry conscious since Harry had left to pick up his best friend- but she did know that Nikki had been out on a date that night, Harry had told her that much. A date which hadn't quite worked out, she assumed, judging by the bag of soaked-through clothes and damp blankets she had found beside the washing machine that morning. Anne knew from Harry's past visits that Nikki's boyfriends rarely ever lasted more than a month or two: Nikki herself seemed to be all Harry ever talked about these days when he came over. It didn't take a genius to tell that he was in love with her; sometimes Anne wondered if the whole world could see it but Harry himself. And Nikki… Anne had only met Nikki a handful of times, but her son talked about her so much that she sometimes felt as if she had known her son's best friend her whole life. She knew about her family, or rather, lack of, she knew all the pain she had been through in her lifetime and strongly suspected that Harry was all she had, in his role of best friend or as something more. He was the one she had trusted to come to her rescue in the middle of the night; that had to be deeper than friendship… didn't it? She had never seen quite enough of her before to gage whether Nikki felt the same way as Harry did, but now, seeing them curled up in bed together, without a care in the world, she found it impossible to believe that each was not completely and utterly head-over-heels in love with the other. It was as if during consciousness, the pair of them were too afraid to act on their feelings for each other: afraid of rejection, of looking stupid, of mucking everything up or being incapable of maintaining a healthy relationship. But whilst they were asleep, no such barriers of fear existed. Whilst asleep Harry and Nikki were free to show their affection for one another, the fact that they would remember nothing of it when they woke up acting as a safety blanket of sorts, protecting them from all those fears which stopped them from acting on their feelings in consciousness. And as Anne pulled the door to once more, telling herself that she would give Harry and Nikki another 15 minutes or so before waking them, her only wish was that one day they would stop being so frightened of failure and realize what had been right under their noses the entire time.


End file.
